


Cloud Is Dead. (or is he?)

by YanderePuppet



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Everyone will probably die, Grieving Sephiroth, Heavy Angst, Implied Past Relationships, M/M, POST AC, dark themes, yandere!Sephiroth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderePuppet/pseuds/YanderePuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd forgotten to hold back. After so many battles with Cloud, he should've known his limits. He was just tired of underestimating the blond. Now... he'll do anything to get him back. Even if that means dying once more</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloud Is Dead. (or is he?)

**Author's Note:**

> This first part is designed to mirror the final scene in the orginal game. Just think of it as Sephiroth choosing to have another Crater fight so that everyon is caught in their flashbacks

An ear-splitting screech rang out, reverberating back off of the enclosed walls of the cave. At first, not one of the members of Avalanche were sure who had made the sound. If it was all of them, or even just their own personal scream, not a single member was certain. Looking back, many of them might say they initially thought the source to be Tifa. The nature of her feelings for their blond leader, the nature of what had happened… It made sense. What they least expected was to hear that soul shattering scream continue, on and on for far longer than any human had the breath capacity to do. That was when they noticed. Every one of them noticed.  The screech, the horrible bloodcurdling scream came from the enemy they faced. Vincent was the first to notice. He also noticed that the silver haired demon was clutching the corpse too tight, shaking the blonde over and over. Curious, he fell into a sort of reverie as he watched. The others didn't seem to see the same sight as him, rushing forward to protect one he already knew was irrevocably deceased. There was no pulse. They didn't have his hearing. Nanaki, upon drawing closer to the scene appeared to hear, and subsequently, understand, and stayed back with him. Barret and Tifa were the first to approach. Their presence went ignored, up until the point they reached over to try and drag Cloud away. The result was that everyone in the room was lifted telekinetically and quickly, remorselessly slammed back into the cold hard wall of the cave. Vincent felt his back strike a particularly sharp bit of stone, his spine already likely whiplashed from the sheer force with which he'd been flung. 

“ _ No! You can't take him! You can’t! No. Mine. Mine mine mine. Don't touch… Don't touch him!”  _ The enemy all but screamed in his bellowing whisper of a voice. Vincent's head reeled. Once his vision cleared, he could already feel his demons fixing him, fighting for a chance to escape and destroy the source of his stress. He shook his head, willing himself to focus on the scene before him. He could tell the others had realized now what was going on. There, in the central precipice of the cavern, was the one enemy they all learned to despise, to associate with only thoughtless destruction,  _ grieving.  _ If such a violent denial stage could even be called something as human as grief. No, it was almost as though the no longer even remotely humanesque entity believed he could reverse this, and that even if he couldn't, he could just destroy everything he found until it was done for him. A low growl sounded through the empty space. Avalanche collectively flinched at the threatening tone. 

“ _ Get up!!”  _ The entity growled in his most expressive variant of his always cold, always imperious and detached voice. There was the loud resounding sting of a sound. A slap. Two slaps. Cloud’s head merely flopped lifelessly at each. “ _ Don't. No. You can't be… You have to… Get up!! That's an order, you hear? Get up off the ground and fight me!”  _ Vincent could actually hear the desperation in that broken voice. Could see the torment in that face. This thing before him… His beloved’s forsaken child…. He suddenly felt so empathetic for the cold, heartless monster. Something in this display spoke to him, a certain familiarity. The others seemed to be completely aware now. Aware of what he'd noticed earlier. That small spark of hopelessness. That tiny little swell of emotion breaking through the eyes of death itself. Vincent didn't even allow a sardonic chuckle at his own thoughts waxing so ... _ poetic. _ The scene was too much. Losing what seemed like the first real ally… Real  _ friend _ he’d had since Lucrecia… Seeing that friend lifeless was already devastation itself to his constantly tormented soul. But this… This display of desperation at the sight of the lifeless corpse of that said friend (even alive he'd been ghostly. Wavering and inconsistent, never truly there, mind up miles and miles above with a flock of the blond’s namesake. Broken eyes, avoidant posture, wary and guarded and so terribly  _ uncertain)  _ by the enemy that had done naught but torment and harm the boy (the boy who was a man, a man who hadn't lived through much of his own life. A man with five years leading to his adulthood forgotten in light of the glowing green of a tube and the glint of scalpels. A boy who'd never related to anyone his age, never found his own sense of home.) Perhaps in that way, the two were similar. The enemy finding something reminiscent of himself buried in those wide and lovely blue eyes and wanting to claim the boy because of this. Maybe he too only wanted someone who could understand his situation, his feelings. Maybe he'd felt that could be the blond man-boy held in his arms, maybe only him. Maybe it was deeper than that. Maybe, somewhere in Cloud’s muddled past they really had been friends. Maybe this was a misplaced sense of caring, or even, of some unrequited passion. 

The tenderness with which the man smoothed those errant tufts of downy blonde hair belied a gentleness and an intimacy that none of them could name. Some of the more mature members thought briefly that perhaps the creature before them had loved their horridly damaged leader: loved him in a way only two of them had. And more strongly than either. Cid would remark later that he believed it to be a hatred so strong it became as reliant as love, but Red and Vincent understood that wasn't all of it. There were things still unexplained. Like the broken sobbing sounds from the mouth of the winged being that had once been as human as any of them. Like the small “I need you” whispered over that still form, the small, heartbroken smile on their enemy's face as he lifted his sword and drove it into himself over and over until he finally slouched over, still cradling the limp body in his arms. Vincent was the only one who heard those last words. “ _ I will bring you back. I will. I will and I won't let you go this time!”  _ Before they both crumbled and faded like dust.

It took hours for the shock to cool down, the breathless unyielding sorrow in everyone's hearts never leaving. There was a hollowness there. No one spoke as they all left. Every one of them heading back to go on with their own lives. Each with a hollowness, and a hole in their hearts, never to be filled. Not a single one of them was near enough to notice the dark figure reemerging from the green haze of the lifestream deep down in the core. No, not where they sat idly in the deck of the Highwind , waiting, praying for anything to happen, anything to tell them this was a dream, that Cloud (with all his quirks and uncertainties, and all of his flaws and those undeniably beautifully sad sapphire eyes.) would be alive, and there, and they hadn't lost him. Even months later they all waited for some news that he wasn't gone. That he'd be alive. Little did they know, next time they saw him, they'd wish for just the opposite. 


End file.
